


Abba

by dwight_from_the_office



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Ian Rider Is Not A Robot, Manipulation, Not Never Say Die compliant, Not Nightshade compliant, Young Alex Rider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23802172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwight_from_the_office/pseuds/dwight_from_the_office
Summary: Alex was an independent kid. He could figure things out and tended to fill out blanks himself. Maybe that's why he never noticed when Ian lost track of what he was teaching Alex.
Relationships: Alex Rider & Ian Rider
Comments: 23
Kudos: 110





	Abba

The maniacal laughter of four year old Alex Rider strewed the air with shades of blue and silver.

“I got you now, Ian!”

Ian chuckled to himself. His back was to the island in the center of the kitchen. Alex was somewhere in the living room, tucked behind the enormous stacks of cardboard Ian had specially acquired from the MI6 storage rooms.

Alex had several advantages. The most bullets, the best shelter, a small body (harder to hit), and the gun that _didn’t_ jam every third shot. But one descended two steps to get from the kitchen to the living room. Ian smirked. He had the high ground.

Carefully, he peeked around the cool, brown cabinets toward the cardboard fortress. Alex was likely hiding behind the tallest stack. Ian eased to his feet and slinked along the wall, careful not to let his gun click its crap revolver. Closer, closer….be still…

Ian pulled away the cardboard from the wall and shot with his left hand, his face and body still obscured. He heard several _thunks_ as the foam pellets struck more cardboard. Interesting. Had Alex set up a second layer?

Curiosity taking him over, Ian recklessly tipped over the entire length of cardboard in his hand and thrust out his gun. He was met with his nephew quickly leveling his own gun at Ian. A stand off, then.

Except, Ian realized with trembling laughter bubbling in his chest, Alex _had_ in fact included a second layer. He was just wearing it. A box with the ends undone was slipped over his torso. The same went for his arms and legs, the stiff material limiting his movement and making him clumsy. Alex had put another box over his head. It seemed as if he had punched out holes for the eyes using his thumbs.

That was it. Ian couldn’t win.

He slowly raised his hands above his head and stepped down to his knees. He stretched his arm across the carpet to put his gun out of reach. Confident in his victory, Alex lifted his helmet. _Perfect._ With all the speed of his years of training, Ian snapped the gun back up and took aim. Alex seemed to realize his mistake just as quickly, pointing his own gun at Ian.

They never figured out who fired first, but they were both most _certainly_ dead.

* * *

“I think it’s too hard.”

“If you say it, you make it true. Never allow yourself to become trapped in that mindset.”

“But I...I can’t find it. I can’t figure it out.”

Ian settled his weight on the armrest, his right arm casually swung onto the cushions behind Alex’s head. So far, Alex had identified the dashed dotting on the i’s, the lowercase s’s written in cursive, the 90º slant, and the long stems. Quite a bit, considering that Ian had given him no instruction going in, but not enough.

“It’s almost like the writing is...lighter. But the pressure is the same. It’s also like it’s more...jumbled... _Oh._ The spacing.”

_There you go, Alex._ “Spacing where?”

“Between the letters. But between the words is smaller. That’s why it’s harder to tell apart the words! Right, Ian?”

“That’s right. Now, Alex, can you explain to me why that makes it more difficult to differentiate the words?”

“‘Cause in...in English, spaces separate words. And letters are closer together to _make_ a word.”

So close. “Ah, Alex. In English?”

Alex frowned at the papers in front of him and then looked up at Ian, eyes wide and lips tensed in concentration. Ian didn’t miss it. He really should start working on awareness of one’s own facial expression soon. Alex was still young. It would be much easier to teach that awareness now, rather than sleeping on it a few years. You could never start too early.

“Well...and French. And Spanish. And Russian. And probably Arabic…”

“Most languages that use an alphabet separate words with a space. Otherwise, they may use a vertical line or a period.”

“Oh.” Where another child might have dragged out the sound, Alex cut it short. “Does that mean you’re gonna have me do ideograms next?”

Ian smiled, more than happy to convey that he was pleased. Only six and his kid was already reading between the lines. “Very good, Alex.”

* * *

“I don’t think I like this every much.”

“You’re doing fine, Al.”

Alex hesitated. “Ian…”

“Hush, Alex. Just like I showed you, remember?”

Alex nodded, though Ian wouldn’t have seen it from where he was prone on their living room floor. He picked up the cord, heavy in his small hands, and sat on the small of Ian’s back, facing his head. Alex pulled his uncle’s left arms onto his back and pushed his hands up and between his shoulder blades. He braced Ian’s elbows against his knees to keep them in place while he centered the rope over his wrists. From there, Alex did his best to remember the steps. They weren’t _too_ hard, though. Alex was eight, now. Both his memory and dexterity had grown some into carefully-honed skills. Handling the rope was as natural as writing. _Loop the rope around the wrists a few time. Wrap the rope around the slack in between to tighten it. Tie in the middle and bring the ends over the shoulders. Cross under the chest and wrap around the arms, forearms, and torso until you’re out of length. Push the captive onto his side. Tie the ends off with the knot settled against that little bump at the bottom of the sternum. Bind the ankles together the same way as the wrists. Bring the ends behind the back and tie over the neck to keep the back arched._

“I’m done, Ian.”

“Very good, Alex. What would you do from here?”

“Call you.”

“And if you need the captive alive?”

“Support the knees until they wake up so that they don’t choke.”

“Excellent. Step back, now. I’m going to test your work.”

Alex obeyed, retreating until the backs of his knees found the edge of the couch. He watched Ian twist his hands and Alex’s heart fell. The knots were easily within reach, just like that.

One by one, the knots fell away, and Ian’s hand was freed. Soon, so was the rest of him. He bundled up the cords and thrust them into Alex’s arms. He didn’t bother to chide the boy or give him a dissatisfied look. It wasn’t necessary. Ian returned to the ground, his already pink and imprinted cheek pressing against the carpet in a way that made Alex’s hand twitch to rub the skin of his own cheek. Ian arranged himself as if he had just collapsed and fell still.

“Again.”

* * *

“Ian, _please_!”

“Pay attention, Alex. Always assume that every civilian will be in shock. You will need to keep yourself in check _and_ help with emergency aid. Remember, this may entail you instructing bystanders who are unable to think by themselves.”

Alex couldn’t quite bring himself to focus. The video was paused. The frame seemed far-away on the tablet he held, small, clammy hands grappling at the bright blue silicone case. The figures on-screen were slightly out of focus. And Alex could see right into it all. He knew what he was looking at. _He could tell._

“ _Ian_. They’re… They’re _dying_.”

Ian considered harshly telling Alex that it was part of the exercise. Death was a part of the real world and Ian prided himself on the practicality of his lessons. He needed to be realistic above everything else. But his nephew was barely ten. That was perhaps a little young, given the content he was studying. He deserved a little reprieve from grimness laid before him. “It’s just a recording. These people are already dead. They’ve been dead for years.”

Alex stared at Ian. “What’s the _point_ of _doing_ this if they’re already _dead_?”

“They might not have died if the bystanders had known what to do. Are you ready for your task?”

Alex looked down at his tablet. The injuries, seemingly caused by the collision of two motorcycles, were horrific. There were three victims. The first was a woman with an open fracture in her left leg and a crush injury over her right elbow, flesh mauled and shards of white splintering everywhere. The second was a man who was twisted where he lay, his pelvis facing down but his shoulder blades flush with the asphalt. His eyes were wide and frightened as he stared at the sky. Probably a spinal break. The last victim was rolled in a mess of limbs. Alex couldn’t even tell their gender. Their entire front had seemingly been scraped off by the road. Their clothes were far too tattered to be described as feminine or masculine. Their figure––chest, hips, hands, everything––was shapeless. Their nose and cheek had been shaved off, blood obscuring any surviving facial features.

If Alex were being honest, realizing that they were dead brought him comfort. 

He felt sick to think it but it was true. It meant that Alex wasn’t watching people who were still suffering. And it reminded him that he wasn’t _actually_ in charge of saving them. Of course, it wasn’t as if Alex would ever _really_ have to worry about something like this. But he understood that Ian was just trying to make sure he was prepared for the world. He could indulge that.

“Alex.”

The child’s gaze snapped back up to his uncle. He quickly and thoroughly began to trace the shallow curves of his cheeks, the faded dusty rose of his lips, the brushed strokes that made up his brows. The ridge of his nose, the churning gradients of greens and hazels in his eyes, the sweet tension beneath his eyes that meant he was smiling inside. Alex couldn’t forget any of it.

“Are you ready for your task?”

He blinked, strengthened by the knowledge that injuries like these were few and far between. They would never touch this little house. Alex cleaned up his mind and focused.

“Yes, Ian.”

* * *

“He needs to do something _normal_.” Jack ran a tense hand through her hair before planting it on the edge of the granite countertop, fingers digging against the material until her nails turned white. “I’m not going to question your lessons, or whatever the hell you– No, listen. I know you’re hiding things about your job and that’s fine with me. It keeps Alex safe and I won’t jeopardize that. I know that you’re teaching him to take care of himself.”

“You’re delaying. What is it, Jack?” Ian leveled her with an attentive, compassionate gaze. If Jack had a concern, she needed to feel like she could approach him about it. It was the only reason Ian had ever bothered to perfect the benevolent expression. Even as a child, Alex could read Ian better than Jack could ever have hoped to do herself. Sweetly curving lips and scrunched cheeks were beloved of his charming nephew, but far from necessary. Explicit facial expressions, gestures, and words were simply luxuries to the boy.

“He’s not _normal_ , Ian. God knows I love him but he’s not. His brain doesn’t work like other kids his age and _not_ in the way you were going for, either.”

Granted, Jack would never be able to read Ian. But she didn’t seem to need to. Not when she knew his mind thoroughly to work out his train of thought, regardless of what his face betrayed. _She’ll make an excellent lawyer,_ Ian thought vaguely.

“He– He’s smart and composed and-and very principled. But it’s like he’s incapable of thinking of anything beyond the morbid implications, or what could be morbid, or-or…” Jack groaned. “Last week, he came to watch _Finding Nemo_ with me and he– All that seemed important to him was the mental state of the _fucking fish_ and how horrific it would have been as a live-action movie with human characters. Do you know what it’s like for a twelve year old kid to look you dead in the eyes and talk about the life-long psychological handicaps that result from prolonged captivity? About how if it had “happened for real” the events would have been about human trafficking and objectifying the victims? He didn’t even blink. It was like he didn’t even realize how heavy the things he was saying were…”

Jack collapsed over the kitchen island, face buried in her hands. Ian was frozen for a moment. For the first time in years, he had to pause to process something. He allowed himself to blink a few times before sweeping across the hardwood, gently taking Jack’s wrists in his hands, and pulling them away from her face. The poor girl looked as if she wanted to cry, eyes rimmed with pink and lips pressed into a tight line.

“It just– We were watching a _kids’ movie_ and the only thing he seemed to get out of it was _that_ … That’s not okay, Ian. You know that’s not okay.”

She was right. It sounded like the introduction of a True Crime podcast. This was not how an operational member of society was built. Ian wanted Alex to be the most sensible and capable civilian out there. That meant experience, but it also meant kindness. Sympathy. The ability to appreciate what one’s skill truly meant. Why didn’t Alex understand that? Where was that purpose? That sense of love and passion?

Ian had trained Alex so thoroughly, so meticulously. Surely he would never have left the boy’s emotional development by the wayside? But as Ian recalled his memories of Alex, he became less and less convinced that he had properly cared for him. He remembered playing (mancala stones clattering into bamboo crevices. Foam bullets striking refrigerator boxes. Marble pieces gliding across tiles of black and white. Stifled giggles as his own heavy footsteps approached the ottoman–). High-pitched laughter and loving touches.

And then Alex turned five. He started school. And MI6 asked for Ian back. A quick mission in southern Europe, they had said. No more than a few days. To be perfectly honest, Ian was excited. _Thrilled_. He felt sluggish. Minor day-long assignments were tedious and did little to satiate the burning need for _fast-and-blurred-and-breathing-hard_. He needed more to feel _charged_ and _awake_ and _on his toes_ , ready for anything.

_Ian came home from that mission six days later on a Saturday. Alex was settled at the kitchen table, homework laid out before him and a Toaster Strudel in hand. When Ian gently shut the front door, Alex’s head snapped up (Alex should have noticed him sooner––Was that post-assignment paranoia talking? No matter. It was more likely right than not) and the five year-old threw him the most bright, most animated smile––And suddenly all Ian could think of was how much Alex looked like John._

_Ian took more and more assignments; he did, after all, have a duty to his country. To his brother. And his time with Alex became less and less. Ian feared for Alex. His time as a minor field operative had softened him, had allowed him to_ forget _all that was out there. Mancala and Nerf wars disappeared. The high-pitched laughter faded. The house became near-silent as Alex’s time with Ian became devoted to the child’s safety. There was so much Alex needed to know, and so little time… Ian knew assignments went bad. Operatives died and organizations got angry and shadows followed his family home. Never again. Not to Alex. Never to Alex._

Unchecked, Ian’s fear had robbed his sweet nephew of a parent.

Thank God for Jack, Ian realized. She had been hired after policemen began to investigate the Rider home for suspected neglect. She hadn’t been hired because Ian was neglecting Alex. She had been hired to simplify the paperwork.

Without Jack, Ian wasn’t sure how much of Alex would have survived. Would he have clung more tightly to his schoolmates? Busied himself with art projects and homework? Or would he have sat in this empty, empty house, Ian’s lectures running through his head, thinking of nothing but the darkness that stained the world in ugly splotches of red and black?

Thank God for Jack Starbright.

* * *

“That was stupid. Scar should have killed Simba himself.”

Jack frowned. “Alex!”

“And it was even more stupid for Simba to return like that. Nala could have easily been part of a set-up; it would have been simple to use his childhood affections against him. Actually, Mufasa should have had Scar killed from the very start. He knew he wanted the throne. Why would he run the risk of–”

“ _Alex_!”

Alex’s jaw froze mid sentence before his teeth audibly clicked. “Ian?”

Ian looked at his nephew carefully. God, Jack was right. The fun of the movie, the vibrancy, the sweet love and stunning loss––It all had gone right over Alex’s head.

“You listen to Jack when she addresses you.”

Alex dipped his chin to his chest. “Yes, Ian. I’m sorry, Jack. I should have listened when you talked.”

Jack’s eyes softened in a way that Ian wished he could remember how to do. “‘S’okay, kiddo. You weren’t paying attention. No big deal.”

Alex held Jack’s eyes for a moment longer before returning his attention to Ian. “What is it?”

Ah, Alex, Ian mused. Gleaning information from every cavity he left unguarded.

Leaning forward, Ian braced his elbows on his knees. He aimlessly pointed at the tele before clasping his hands together. “You’re not wrong about any of that. But it’s irrelevant. Never allow yourself to get so caught up in the details and hidden meanings that you miss what’s right in front of you. You didn’t understand the movie because you ignored the emotions. Emotions are the most important part of anything you’ll ever do, Alex. The most important part of anything that anyone ever does. You cannot let them slip past you.”

Jack tossed Ian the remote before he even had to gesture to ask. He exited the credits and restarted the movie.

“We’re watching it again. And this time, you’re going to pay attention.”

Ninety minutes later saw Alex’s head resting on Ian’s lap and his legs thrown over Jack’s thighs. Ian’s right arm was thrown over Jack’s shoulders where her drowsy form was tipping over. His left hand was buried in Alex’s hair, fingers lazily carding through the tangles. Ian’s heart broke and soared at the sight of a gentle, sleeping smile on Alex’s lips.

That night, Alex dreamt of color.

* * *

The doorbell rang.

* * *

The sound of metal crunching and crumpling around him was drowned by the imagined gunshots, the quick pops as the bullets pierced the car door.

* * *

“I hope you’re not looking at me.”

* * *

“A bloody schoolboy. Just your presence is insulting, you know that?”

* * *

Strawberry blond hair and flashing blue eyes that could see right through him...

* * *

Straps biting into his wrists, instruments hovering over his eyes, glaring white lights–

* * *

Blinding powder tumbling in his vision

* * *

“He was hit by a train.”

* * *

The ungraded chemistry tests went up in flames more quickly than Julius’s body.

* * *

Ripped flesh and glazed eyes taunted him through the cool water.

* * *

“Hey, I’m Sabina. You’re the ball boy, right?”

* * *

Flashing blue eyes going blanker than ever before

* * *

A cacophonous assault on his ears unlike _anything_ he had ever experienced and smoke and wind stole his breath–

* * *

“It’s a part of you. An extension. You shoot as easily as you point at something”

* * *

Did the kickback throw his aim off or...or had Alex just...missed his first mark?

* * *

Blurry words and _panic! Panic! Panic!_ as his pulse slowed in his ears and as his chest grew wet and the Bank cartwheeled into the ground…

* * *

Goddamn, couldn’t he get _one_ fucking night of sleep without somebody planning mass murder before him?

* * *

The spacecraft shook and shuddered and now _this_ was _definitely_ the loudest thing Alex had ever heard and were they _sure_ nothing was wrong with it?

* * *

Droplets of red drifted balletically through the air and Alex didn’t have a free hand to bat them away from his skin.

* * *

Red hair stuck to wet cheeks, Jack’s body tucked into Alex’s side as he breathed deeply and fought for control–

* * *

His clothes were ripped from him before he was thrown a pair of shorts and thrust before an audience.

* * *

A cry ripped from his chest as his partner tumbled to the ground, nearly lifeless.

* * *

_Where did you put them, Ian? Where did you hide our family’s stories?_

* * *

A nasty sneer of a person dumped mashed peas over his front as Alex sat, rage simmering, but so helpless.

* * *

Sweat coated his fingers as he fought animalistically for his grasp on the rod–

* * *

Alex moved quick enough to put Tom in the cross-fire.

* * *

_Oh God oh God he couldn’t move and the water smothered his nose and mouth and he swore he didn’t know–_

* * *

“I’ll do anything! You wanted begging? I’m begging! Please, please leave her alone she didn’t– NO–”

* * *

Alex felt no remorse, no nausea, no hesitance, as he squeezed the trigger and burned a neat, weeping hole through his own forehead.

* * *

“It’s not fair. “We’re your guardians–” They act like you’re their property! You should be living with us!”

* * *

A cruel, predatory smile as Alex bowed his head. “Good boy, Alex.”

* * *

“He looks young, but I assure you, this is the Asset. He can be ornery, but not toward those who possess him…”

* * *

“Again.”

“Alex–”

“ _Again_ , Tom. This isn’t a joke.”

“Alex! Listen to yourself! You– _You_! You know _exactly_ what you're doing! I _know_ you know! You're _different_ than Ian. This shit never goes over your head the same way it did his."

“Ian was right, Tom. He always was, even when I couldn't see it. Even when _he_ couldn't see it That’s why I’m not dead and I’ll be damned if I act any differently with you.”

Tom felt helpless. He knew that MI6 was holding him over Alex, and his mate had every right to be as frightened as he was. But Tom just wanted to forget. He wanted to pretend nothing had changed, that ghosts didn’t keep watch over him, that Alex wasn’t being tortured out of fear for Tom’s well-being.

If only these damn Riders didn’t care so much. But that wasn’t their nature. It wasn’t Ian’s and it certainly wasn’t Alex’s.

Tom would never have to use any of this, of course. Going off the grid, tying someone up, administering first-aid––useful, but Tom only cared that simply having the skills would comfort Alex amongst his constant dread. 

Tom steeled his resolve. _This was for Alex._


End file.
